Sailing along

[Sovak 0]

Sovak looked to the shoreline, about a kilometer distant, at the jutting rock atop which sat Claire and his crude home. The small shack perched on “The Point” was a small, though adequate, protection against the mild climate that seemed to prevail on this part of the future Earth on which they were marooned.

 

He had hoped to surprise her with the dwelling, but should have known that a person trained in Special Intelligence and fact gathering would not be so easily caught unaware. She had, of course, known he was building it, but had been just as gracious and excited as if it had been a complete surprise. She immediately began giving the new residence those happy touches that females had traditionally fashioned for centuries, which made a ram-shackled house into a true home. She placed a plant here, a wall hanging there, made some curtains from some old uniforms to hang over the windows, had him make a table and chairs which needed to go just over there, and told him to wipe his feet when he came in from the garden, which, by the way, should be placed right over there, and he could start it first thing in the morning.

 

He did have to admit, there was a certain amount of satisfaction he gleaned from making the structure from native logs, himself. And though they weren’t completely without modern conveniences (he could hardly imagine felling so many trees with an old-fashioned ax rather, as the pioneers had done, rather then easily slicing them with phasors) the rustic setting appealed to him in some way that, in his own mind, he was still not quite clear about. He shrugged those uneasy thoughts off, however, as he had found himself doing more and more of, lately.

 

Sovak pushed the rudder of the small boat to the lee, and ducked as the boom swung over the transom. The canvas snapped as if filled with the ocean breeze and the boat surged forward on a new tack. The water lapped peacefully on the hull and swirled around the flat transom licking at the name arched across the stern of the boat, “Claire Belle” as it glided easily toward the small harbor a short distance from The Point.

 

Power was, of course, at a premium on the planet, as most of that which was produced was put into deuterium production for the Manticore, so the “Claire Belle” had been a logical means of transportation from the main dwellings at the battery to the new house, and required no power but the wind to propel it. The meeting from which he was just returning had been about that very problem, as a matter of fact. It seemed that the longer they stayed here and began settling in, that more needs and comforts were requested by the crew, and so a larger percentage of the power they were slowly producing had to be provided to satisfy those needs. The conclusion of the meeting was predictable. There was no rush to refuel and repair the Manticore. Since there was no place for them to go in this time, except back to their own time, and theories for that particular trip were still being worked out, they had all the time they needed. So, it was quite logical that they adjust their timetable, extending it once again, so the crew could be more comfortable in the meantime. Their stay here was already projected to be several months, so allocating some of the power production for their own creature comforts would only extend their stay a few more weeks. The land was not hostile, the climate agreeable, and their resources were not strained, so it was a logical tradeoff.

 

Sovak leaned forward to raise the centerboard as the small craft neared the shore. He caught one of the waves as it transformed to a low breaker in the shallow cove, expertly shifting his weight as he dropped the main sail and surfed the boat the remainder of the way to the sandy beach. As he pulled the lightweight craft up the beach and tied it off to a tree, high enough so it would not be carried away by the tide, he looked again to the small cottage atop The Point. Claire would be waiting for him, he knew. She had been scheduled to work in the tomato gardens with Jami today, and would no doubt be happily exhausted (she seemed to really enjoy gardening) but eager to tell him all the latest rumors and news the two of them had discussed as they worked. He found his pace quickening, and wondered again at the thoughts he was having and reactions he seemed to have at them. Once again, he shrugged them off, not really caring that it was illogical that he was actually eager to get to the small shack perched atop that rock. He found he anticipated their greeting, though it had turned into a daily ritual whenever he returned, even though they had been there only a short time.

 

She would see him climbing the path, stop whatever she was doing and come to meet him, her two fingers extended to meet his. As the tips touched she would ask, “How was your trip?” and he would answer, “Smooth sailing.” The routine varied from there, but always started the same, and he found he was appreciative of that and really gratified at the thought of it.

 

Perhaps he would meditate upon the illogic of those thoughts, tonight. …or perhaps not. After all, their stay here, so far, had been smooth sailing.